


Winning while losing

by HalcyonWritings (SweetFanfics)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Lingerie, M/M, Panties, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 12:04:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1346806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetFanfics/pseuds/HalcyonWritings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendly warning for the masses - never make a bet with Tyler Hoechlin because the universe loves him and somehow, your selected team is gonna lose and you’re the one who’s gonna end up wearing itchy lace girl panties for a whole day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winning while losing

**Author's Note:**

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> Based off [this gif set](http://stileslovesderek.tumblr.com/post/72761610105/meeya-do-your-thing) by [Bubbles](http://stileslovesderek.tumblr.com)

For what feels like the hundredth time, Dylan tries to discreetly adjust himself but all he feels is itchy, itchy,  _itchy_.  _'I'm never making a bet with Hoechlin ever again, so help me God.'_   he grumbles, wishing he hadn’t so gleefully agreed to the damned bet in the first place.  
  


Friendly warning for the masses - never make a bet with Tyler Hoechlin because the universe loves him and  _somehow_ , your selected team is gonna lose and  _you’re_  the one who’s gonna end up wearing itchy  **lace**   _girl panties_  for a whole day.  
  


Digging out his cellphone, Dylan shoots a quick text to the man in question.  **'i hate u so** **much’** He stares at the screen, waiting a minute for a reply and sure enough, Hoechlin responds almost immediately.  ****  
  


**'I'm not the one who bet on the wrong team. Enjoy.'**  
  


"Yeah right." Dylan grumbles, absent-mindedly scrolling up their conversation and hoping to God he’s not blushing at the picture he had sent to Hoechlin to prove he’s wearing the dark teal panties. Not confident enough to take a picture of himself in the mirror, Dylan had pulled his pants down just enough to show off the lacey panties and snapped a shot before sending it.   
  


Wriggling in his seat, Dylan wonders how girls can manage to wear lace underwear and not scratch their skin red. Maybe it’s a matter of getting used to it? Or maybe they buy the good stuff. Soft lace which doesn’t feel like someone dunked the material in itching powder.   
  


Trying to sit still through the interview is impossible. Keeping his hands from drifting down to his crotch even more so. Dylan needs to stop himself every time the photographer turns the camera his way, crotch itching like mad. He catches Posey fighting down a grin, well aware of Dylan’s dilemma. Dylan tries to kick his best friend a few times and it only makes Posey grin harder.  _'Surrounded by assholes.'_   Dylan almost groans aloud in relief when the interview ends.  
  


He pulls his phone out, texting ‘ **sucks for u! all the interviews after now are audio!** ’ Dylan’s trying to look on the bright side of things or else he’s going to go out of his mind! But, no, really. It’s a really good thing that he’s got nothing but audio interviews after this point in time because he can barely keep his hands from grabbing himself, trying to continuously adjust himself in a position where his dick is actually comfortable. If such a position is possible, Dylan will keep trying to achieve it.  
  


In fact, his fingers are tapping their way to the inside of his thighs when a guy shows up. With a video camera and tripod in hand.  _Fuck_. Dylan feels the smile on his face freeze, and stay frozen as he watches the guy set it up and pull up a chair for the interviewer. Oh  _hell no_. Why is this his life?  _Why_. Did Hoechlin know this? Is that why he’d insisted that today be the day Dylan wear the panties?   
  


As soon as the thought occurs to him, Dylan asks Hoechlin that and gets a cheeky wink emote back that makes him wish Hoechlin was in front of him so he could make strangling motions at him instead of his phone screen. Ugh. Hoechlin was probably laughing at him right now wasn’t he? Dylan could imagine him leaning back on a sofa, shaking with laughter as he imagines how angry and uncomfortable Dylan must be feeling.  
  


_‘_ **i hate u** ’ Dylan texts Hoechlin at the five minute warning, frowning at the laughing emote Hoechlin sends back.  **‘really really hate** ’ he sends back because dammit, Hoechlin needs to understand the severity of the situation here! He gets five laughing emotes back, all of them laughing so hard they’ve got tears coming out of their eyes.   
  


Dylan tries to sit with one leg up on his knee but nope, that just makes the lace dig into his balls (which, sidenote: No. Just no). He tries to sit with his legs spread wide (yeah, yeah. He  _knows_  how that’ll look and how much fangirls (and probably a few boys) are going to yell but desperate times, desperate situations and all that) but that just makes him want to scratch his hips like mad. And any time he tries to sit like he normally would, his hands somehow always wind up on his thighs, sliding up to cup himself.   
  


And the whole time, he feels his phone vibrating against his ass. A reminder which makes his fingers unthinkingly squeeze himself through his dark jeans. As he smiles and jokes for the camera, Dylan swears swift retribution unto Hoechlin. It’ll be terrible and at least twice as uncomfortable, Dylan promises himself this.   
  


As soon as they get a break, Dylan pulls his phone out to check Hoechlin’s messages. And makes a choking noise. ‘ **Try not to touch yourself too much** ’ How does he even  _do_ that? ‘ **Promise to make it up to you if you’re good** ’ Oh  _God_. ‘ **Call me when you’re done and I’ll make it up to you** ’   
  


That.  _That_.  
  


Leaning over towards Posey, Dylan whispers, “How much longer is this gonna take?” He’s frantically hoping its nothing longer than ten minutes because his brain is going a mile a minute now, imagining all the ways Hoechlin is going to make this  _so_ much better.   
  


Then Posey has to go and shatter his dreams by looking around for a clock before giving up and shrugging. “I dunno. Probably a couple of hours. We’ve got four more interviews after this don’t we?”  
  


_Damn it_. Dylan drops his head back with a loud groan, hoping it sounds more generally frustrated instead of sexually-frustrated. He’s not going to make it. He just knows it.  _‘No! No!’_  Dylan scolds himself, sitting up straight as they start again. He’s not going to give in so soon. He’s got his pride dammit! He can do this!   
  


He can  _totally_  do this!  
  


All he’s got to do is focus on the questions and answer them as best as he can. A few jokes here, some serious answers there and it’s smooth (ish) sailing along the way!  Dylan's confident he can do this.   
  


But then Hoechlin has to go and spoil his plans. He keeps texting. A new message every few minutes. When the interviewer focuses on Posey, Dylan sends up a silent thanks before pulling his phone out to see what the hell Hoechlin has been text him.  
  


‘ **I keep looking at this picture of you wearing these panties. It’s a good color on you.** ’  
  


‘ **Wish I could have seen you put them on. Would have helped.** ’  
  


‘ **Can’t wait to take them off.** ’  
  


‘ **Or would you want to keep them on and let me kiss you through the lace?** ’  
  


‘ **I’d like to do that. Keep kissing you until you’re hard against my mouth.** ’  
  


‘ **Wonder what you’d taste like through the cloth.** ’  
  


The last message is a picture. It makes Dylan close his legs and squeeze in the hopes to keep his half chub at bay. Hoechlin’s taken a picture of himself squeeze his own dick through his underwear and there’s no  _way_  to miss the fact that he’s almost all the way to hard.  
  


His fingers shake as he ties his reply out, fumbling every word at least twice before he manages to write out ‘ **im calling you in 10** ’  
  


Dylan waits, holding onto the last vestiges of his self control as the interview finally,  _finally_  finishes before bouncing out of his seat yelling, “Bathroom break! Can’t hold it in any longer!” He hears Posey laughing and making a coming which sounds a lot like ‘I keep telling you not to drink so much water before an interview!’ Dylan feels no qualms in flipping his best bro the bird over a shoulder as he darts out.   
  


After asking a few people for directions, Dylan is led to an empty office and told, “Just use that bathroom. No one comes here anyways.”  _Excellent_. Now he won’t have to worry too much about staying quiet. Dylan smiles at the woman as she walks out, darting forward to lock the door before hurrying to the bathroom to get busy because he’s  _done_.   
  


He’s got his jeans unzipped and open before he’s inside, hissing slightly when he pulls the lace down to free his dick. Bracing one hand against the wall behind the toilet, Dylan begins to stroke himself. He groans when his phone begins to buzz in his pocket, repeatedly. Meaning that someone is calling him. “Not  _now_!” Dylan whines, giving his cock a hard squeeze before standing straight.   
  


It takes some wriggling and grunting but he gets his phone out. It’s Hoechlin. Dylan isn’t even sure why he’s surprised. “Hey.” His voice sounds incredible breathless, body shivering in happy anticipation.  
  


“Where are you?” Tyler asks, sounding the exact opposite of how Dylan feels. That is to say, totally unflustered and 100 percent put together. And here Dylan is half way to losing his mind because he just  _wants_.    
  


Swallowing past his dry throat, Dylan shifts so that his back is against the wall. He tries to pull his jeans and panties down with one hand but skinny jeans. It takes both hands to push the material down his thighs, grunting into the phone he’s got squeezed between his ear and his shoulder. “Bathroom. There was this office three doors down from where we were shooting. It’s got a bathroom attached and I’m fighting to get these stupid jeans down.”  
  


Tyler hums. Dylan can  _feel_  his amusement over the airwaves and decides, if Tyler isn’t going to play fair, then he isn’t either. “I wish you were here helping me out of these.”   
  


The quick inhale he hears makes his stomach twist in pleasure, and shoot a vicious smile at the opposite wall. Dylan sighs, closing his hands as he drags his hands up his thighs. “Wish you were here touching me. Kissing me like you said you would. You always look so good when you’re on your knees between my legs.”   
  


It’s so terribly easy to imagine Tyler’s hands sliding up his thighs but so hard to replicate the firm, gentle touch Tyler has. Dylan whimpers and wishes Tyler was  _here_ , holding his hips steady and sucking on his dick. One hand goes down to cup his balls, the other lazily pumping his dick. “Want your mouth on me. God. Want you so bad Tyler.”  
  


Dylan lets his mouth run on, letting his fantasy out straight into Tyler’s ear and further encouraged by the heavy sounds of Tyler’s strained breathing. He remembers the feeling of Tyler’s sharp inhales against his ear and sighs, squeezing the base of his cock and trying to spread his legs more.  
  


He whines right after whispering how much he wants a repeat of their last weekend together, pausing because Tyler asks, “Did you lock the door before you started?”  
  


“Duh.” Dylan pants. Last thing he wants is for some random stranger to burst in and overhear him spanking his monkey. “Course I did.”  
  


Is it just wishful thinking that he hears someone rattling a door? “Open the door.”   
  


“What? No way!”  
  


Dylan frowns at thin air, wondering what Tyler is playing at. “Dylan.” There’s the rattling sound again. Coming from the other side of the line actually. Wait. It can’t be. Can it? “I’m right outside so can you just open the door?”  
  


After he’s given his phone an open mouth look of surprise, Dylan eyes his jeans and underwear before deciding he doesn’t give a fuck and waddles out. He’s a couple of feet away from the door when the door knob rattles, prompting Dylan to ask, “Tyler?”  
  


“Dylan, open the door.” He hears through the door as well as his phone.   
  


Hurrying forward, Dylan braces himself against the door with both hands, scrambling to unlock and open the door. The second the door clicks open, Tyler’s there in front of him, reaching out to grab his face and kiss him senseless.   
  


Dylan is barely allowed to suck a surprised breath in before Tyler’s pushing him back into the door, reaching back for Tyler while the other man locks the door and kisses Dylan back. “How did you even?” Dylan asks weakly, arching up into the broader man’s body as rough hands skate down his torso.  
  


“Later.” Tyler promises, pulling away even as his teeth catch Dylan’s bottom lip and tug playfully on it. “Promise I’ll tell you later.”   
  


There’s an argument on the tip of his tongue but it withers away in the face of Tyler dropping to his knees with a dull thump, hand resting warm against Dylan’s thighs. They stroke over downy hair on their slow journey up, petting Dylan's shaking thighs gently. Dylan swallows nervously, feeling his nails scratch against the door before turning into fists against the flat surface, wondering if it’s possible to die from a visual overload or something because this. This is too much. 

 

Tyler’s staring at the lace like it holds all the answers to the universe, eyes glimmering when he looks up and quirks a tiny smile at Dylan. Dylan can’t help but shiver and wish he could keep Tyler like this. Or just keep Tyler and have him help him dress every morning, undress every night and hold him until they drift off to sleep.  
  


He hisses in mingled pleasure-pain when Tyler tugs the elatic digging into his hips, taking hold of Dylan’s cock and keeping it pressed straight against Dylan’s stomach. The inseam is a wretchedly perfect tease pressing along the underside of his dick, making Dylan squirm against the one big hand pressing into his stomach.  
  


“God you look amazing.” Tyler sounds so fucking  _wrecked_  that Dylan  _has_ to look down and see for himself.  
  


Tyler’s ears are pink, same as his cheeks. He’s staring at Dylan’s crotch like he’s never seen it before, like he’s a man dying of thirst in a desert and Dylan’s the oasis. There’s a sound that bursts out of him seeing Tyler looking like that and it makes the other man blink up at him. The slightly lost look stays, deepens the longer they stare at each other until Dylan whispers, “Are you gonna help me with this or do I need to do it myself?”  
  


Lust immediately flares in Tyler’s eyes. It burns brighter than the sun, warming Dylan from the inside out with a grin. “How much time do we have?” Tyler asks, voice muffled as he mouths Dylan’s cock through the lace.

 

How much time? Dylan wonders what he did with his cell phone, spies it lying on the floor too far away with a groan. “Not long.” He guesses. “Probably another ten minutes. I got here a couple of minutes ago.”   
  


His knees are going to give out any second now. Faster if Tyler keeps pressing those kisses right under his glans, which is poking out from underneath the panties and dribbling pre-come. Dylan squeezes his knees together, pressing them into Tyler’s shoulders with a bitten off moan. He bites down harder on his own lips when the closed mouthed kisses turn into wet ones, with  _tongue_. “Better make it fast.” He points out with a small measure of sadness. “You can take your time tonight.”  
  


Tyler’s groan is a perfect puff of hoist air over his leaking dick, making Dylan whimper and thrust his hips up. He wishes they were some place more private, either of their apartments, so that he could beg and plead for Tyler to get on with it already please Tyler please. It’s not going to last long, not with the way Tyler keeps touching the lace panties like he can’t believe Dylan’s wearing them.  
  


And then there’s a perfect heat capturing the head of his dick, wet tongue teasing his slit over and over again that drives Dylan to madness. He writhes against the door, grinding his teeth as he struggles to stay quiet. Dylan wants to bang his head into the door when Tyler pulls the panties down and takes him all the way in. He spreads his thighs, hands digging into Tyler’s hair and pulling him forward instead of crying out when he sucks. Dylan glares when there’s a finger travelling back to tease him his hole, just the tip in, a cruel tease because he  _loves_ having Tyler in him but that would require more time and they don’t  _have_ time, dammit!  
  


He’s so aroused he wants to  _cry_. Dylan wants to shout and groan and make a million other noises he  _knows_  Tyler likes to hear as much as he likes to make them but he  _can’t_. There’s just a thin door between them and the rest of the world. And honestly? Dylan wants to tell the world to go fuck off right now. His thighs tremble, struggling to spread themselves wider until finally there’s a quiet ripping noise that makes him giggle lust-stupid at Tyler’s head. So much for the panties then.  
  


Tyler groans around Dylan’s cock, eager fingers grabbing the panties and  _yanking_  on them so  _hard_  that Dylan yelps as the material rends. It takes a couple of more hard tugs until the panties are no more and Tyler’s giving him the best, most eager,  _sloppy_ blow job that Dylan has  _ever_  had. And it’s so damned perfect it feels like his brain liquified and came out his dick, straight into Tyler’s mouth.  
  


He  _whimpers_  when he stares dumbstruck down at Tyler, coughing and wiping his mouth clean with the stupid panties before smirking up at him. Dylan can’t even words in that moment. He weakly tugs on Tyler’s hair, wanting him to stand up so that they can kiss. But instead of the kiss, Tyler takes a step back, causing Dylan to let out a distressed whine.  
  


Tyler immediately presses a quick kiss to the corner of Dylan’s lips, murmuring, “I need to go rinse my mouth.” But fuck that. Seriously.   
  


With a strength he didn’t think he had left, Dylan grabs Tyler and pulls him in for a  _dirty_ , eager kiss where he does his level best to clean the other man’s mouth with his tongue. Tyler’s surprised noise makes him feel  _so_ powerful, it’s  _scary_. Not to mention humbling. That  _he’s_  the one responsible for pulling that noise out of Tyler. That he’s the one Tyler opens up to.   
  


It’s no surprise he finds himself smiling happily by the time the kiss goes soft, precious and sweet. When he opens his eyes and sees the same softness reflected in Tyler’s face, his smile grows into a grin. “Hey.”  
  


“Hi.” Tyler greets back, grinning back. “So how did you like the panties?”  
  


With a quiet snort, Dylan eyes the ripped lace before drawling, “Itchy as hell. Pretty sure I’m never trying  _that_  ever again.”  
  


“Never ever?” Tyler teases with altogether too familiar teasing voice.  
  


Dylan eyes the panties in consideration before nodding. “I’m 85 percent sure I don’t want to try this again.”

 

“And the remaining 15 percent?” Tyler asks, kissing the moles under Dylan’s left mole.   
  


He can  _feel_  Tyler’s grin against his jawline when he mumbles, “I can stand to be convinced. _If_  you  _promise_  I don’t have to wear lace panties again.”

 

Warmth floods his body when Tyler shakes with suppressed mirth against him. “Cotton next time.” Tyler promises, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of Dylan’s nose before helping him with his jeans. Their fingers are fumbling against each other, both of them trying to pull the zip up, while exchanging playful kisses, when there was a knock on the door.  
  


They both jumped, knees knocking together as a hesitant voice asks, “Mr. O’Brien? You’re needed on set.”  
  


“Coming!”

 

Dylan hollers back, glaring at Tyler who playfully mouths ‘Mr. O’Brien?’ before whispering, “You want to tell him or should I that you’ve already come?”  
  


Pointing his finger right at Tyler’s grinning face, Dylan retorts, “ _That_  was not funny. Stop laughing! That was lame. That joke was so lame it needs a crutch!” But he smiles anyways because Tyler’s still grinning at him, even when he bends down to scoop the ruined panties and their phones up..  
  


He’s still smiling as Tyler slips his phone into his pocket before trying to fix Dylan’s hair, pressing a quick kiss under the hairline before murmuring, “Call me when you’re done okay?”  
  


“‘course.” With one last smile at him, Dylan unlocks the door, makes sure the coast is clear before slipping out. He whistles softly on the way back to the set, feeling about nine times more comfortable and twice as blissed out now that he’s no longer wearing the itchy panties.  
  


He’s just plopped down in his seat with a happy little sigh, when Posey glances at him and asks, “That must have been one hell of a dump you took if you came back looking so happy.”  
  


“You could say that.” Dylan says with a grin and eyebrow waggle which Posey understands in a heartbeat.   
  


The other man laughs and holds his fist out for Dylan to bump. Which he does so with great delight. “Is he still around?” Posey asks in a softer tone, mindful of their company.   
  


That’s a good question. He should have asked that. But Dylan gets more than a little fuzzy headed after a good orgasm. He shrugs, patting his jeans for his phone. The device buzzes as soon as he’s got a hand around it.   
  


Dylan pulls it out, heart bursting with affection when he sees the new message is from Tyler.  **‘Good luck with the interviews! :)’**

 

 “I guess he left.” He answers, slipping the phone away, already looking forward to tonight. Hopefully they’d end before time and he’d manage to have dinner with Tyler as well. Hopefully. Dylan crossed his fingers for good luck before crossing his legs too. Although the latter was more to avoid the camera from accidentally getting an eyeful.


End file.
